


To Fetch Me Back

by paradiamond



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: BATB theory: the dancers in white became the white wolves, F/F, Mentions of Violence, lesbian werewolf women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-17 00:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10582302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradiamond/pseuds/paradiamond
Summary: Snow is blooming wrongly on the ground ahead of them, reaching out from the stone and consuming everything. Renée runs faster, as fast as she can, determined to beat it. But when their shoes touch the ground, they turn, twisting and falling into wolves.*The white dressed dancers that made it out of the castle before the magic struck them are turned into a pack of wolves. As the oldest and strongest, Renée leads them through it, but finds herself lost when they are suddenly changed back.





	

**Author's Note:**

> You were sharp as a knife to get me / You were a wolf in the night to fetch me back. (Phidel, The Wolf)

It was truly a ball to remember, even before magic intruded and horror struck. 

The low light strains her eyes as Renée circles the dance floor, attempting in vain to attract the Prince’s attention. They all are, white graces draped in rich fabrics, with fake hair piled on their heads and faces painted into obscurity. The whiteness blends them together, a seemingly endless variation on the same theme. 

The most beautiful by far is Bernadette, who could not look better if she tried in her stark white dress, set off as it is by her dark skin, so black it looks almost blue in the candle light. The contrast is so striking even the Prince gives her a second glance. She smiles at Renée at she walks by, perfectly aware of her place as champion tonight. 

Renée returns the smile, showing teeth as jealousy claws up her throat. Beautiful as she still is, it is conspicuously obvious that she’s the oldest one at the party, getting older everyday as her younger sister keeps reminding her, put out by the fact that she cannot marry until Renée does. 

The music swells, calling them to dance, movements so practiced they look entirely effortless. Renée gets her turn around the floor with the Prince, and can’t help but smile at the glint in his eye, verging on mania. But he turns from her just as he does from all the others. The indignity of it would have been the most notable part of the evening for her, if not for the old women. 

When the hag holds up the rose, the Prince laughs, and so does everyone else, following his lead with heads thrown back. But not for long. As the Prince turns his back, the old woman straightens hers, and changes, growing out from herself in a burst of light. 

Someone screams, the sound cut off with a slap. Renée herself gaps, her hand flying to her throat. The enchantress is the most beautiful woman Renée has ever seen. The most beautiful in the world. Caught in her pull, Renée rocks forward a step, drawn in, but a small hand wraps around her elbow, holding her back. Renée looks down, irritated, and sees Sylvie, nearly her opposite as the youngest and most gangly, looking particularly coltish in her starched dress. Sylvie shakes her head, eyes wide, and then their attention is drawn back to the center of the floor with a snap when the Enchantress moves, her every breath seeming to shake the room. 

The transformation of the Prince comes first, ripping him apart in front of their eyes so that they know what’s coming for them. The magic moves through the room in a wave, afflicting them all one by one. Renée sees servants turned into cleaning implements, maids into tea service. The magic reaches the first of her party in white, melting them down into strange small birds. Renée stares, fear gripping her heart and freezing her in place. Then it burns away, replaced by a primal need. 

“Run,” Renée says, her whisper almost a shout in the horrified space, and pulls up her skirts, the drive for safety overriding propriety for the first time in her life. She doesn't look back to see which have followed, but she can hear their heels on the polished floors. 

The doors to the outside world stand open, and it’s only when she crosses the threshold that Renée turns her head to see other women in white, flying down the stairs with her. One is not fast enough, and disappears from view as she drops to the ground, just inside the doorway. Renée wrenches her head forward and runs faster, harder, the little used muscles in her legs burning. 

Snow is blooming wrongly on the ground ahead of them, reaching out from the stone and consuming everything. Renée runs faster, as fast as she can, determined to beat it. But when their shoes touch the ground, they turn, twisting and falling into wolves. 

***

The wolf which Renée thinks was Carlotta will not eat the meat. She prowls off to the side, ears pressed flat to her head just as she did the last time. It has become a problem already, and they have only been in the forest for a few days, or so it seems at the very least. Time has become an odd stranger.

Renée shuffles on her paws and ignores her, for now. She will have to manage it eventually. They need everyone alive and working to feed and protect each other. If not, they won’t survive without the support. So Carlotta must live, even if it means Renée must bully the dimwitted socialite after she’s done eating, and she eats first. 

Next to her, Bernadette is settled down, her side pressed to Renée’s comfortably. Shared warmth is almost as valuable as shared food. The others all defer to Renée, as though that first followed command to run had actually saved them. 

There are fifteen of them, the ones that had made it out, and Renée knows them all. Nearly identical white wolves against a backdrop of snow, and she knows them in a way she never could as a woman. They blended together more as dancers, their skirts swirling around their ankles. 

The transition had been nonexistent, they simply were, they just became new. At first Renée felt it all the time, the fabric, the protection of the walls, the eyes of the other girls, judging, watching, waiting for someone to fall. It gets easier, more natural, everyday. 

The necessity of survival which had driven them out of the castle in the first place also teaches them to shelter in the thick bushes. They learn to hunt small game, then move on to bigger prospects. It makes Carlotta eat, and Sylvie untuck her tail from between her legs. 

Renée protects them all with the fierce support of Bernadette, almost as fearsome as she is striking. She is the most quiet, the best at sneaking up on prey. Renée is the strongest, the one who goes in for the kill. The first time she tastes warm blood she recoils, some long buried conversation with her father bubbling to the surface as the rabbit twitches itself to death. A dog that tastes blood is lost, he said. There’s no coming back. 

She sniffs at the rabbit and bites again, tearing it to pieces. 

Once, they hear the Prince, the Beast, scream out his window, the sound hollow with pain. Bernadette swivels her ears, eyeing Renée with apparent curiosity. The meaning comes through clearly enough. _What’s wrong with him?_

Renée huffs, her breath a puff in the frozen air. _Who knows._

Later, though the passage of time has become a mystery, men come into their forest. Renée leads a curious party to investigate. There is so little movement from the castle, and the inhabitants there can hardly be called human. Renée’s memories are vague at times, but she remembers what she saw, what they had run from. 

When the men notice them, they raises their weapons and shoot. A wolf is struck, a sister, and she dies. Renée screams, the sound coming out familiar and frightening, a building note aimed at the sky. The others join in, and the combined might of their voices scare the man away. 

When the men return, Bernadette leads the charge and brings down a man, but they don’t kill him, sending him back on his way to spread the news and keep them away. It doesn’t work. 

The next one, the third time, they kill. 

Running under the moon. The snow under their feet. Curling up together in the cave Renée found for them after that first horrid night, now so far away. The taste of blood no which longer phases her. The memories fade. Names cease to be important, but the bonds only grow stronger. 

They move together in their unchanging world, finally as graceful as they had always desired. 

***

Then it’s all gone. 

The pack is hunting, stalking a deer, and planning their revenge on the big monster that had emerged from the stone place, when it all changes. 

For days on end there had been action. A man and a woman. The monster which had injured Noel and Angelique. Then there came a large group of men, and a big commotion at the stone place. These men came with fire, weapons. The pack stayed away from them, too smart to take the odds for so little reward. They stay low, blending in with the snow. Still, they need to hunt, so when the sun starts to rise they range far, looking for game. 

Renée is running with her sisters when it hits her. 

All at once the world shifts and the sun brightens, throwing her off balance. The next moment the ground is rushing up to meet her, hitting her hard and she collapses in a helpless pile of fur and crossed paws. Her spine bends, then straightens, her limbs lose their strength. She claws at the ground, mind numb with shock, wondering where the snow had gone. A noise to her right makes her looks up, concern for her sisters hitting her with a strange specific clarity. Renée sees her youngest crouched on the ground, one knee bent, her arms thrown up to protect herself. Eyes wide, mouth open. Human face. White dress. Sylvie. 

A gasps works its way up her throat as Renée scrambles up to two legs, her hands flying to grab at herself. Human again. Dressed all in white. Her hair hangs in her face, fallen from it’s party style. The beads of her dress feel too close under her soft palms, so she tears them away, heart pounding so fast it hurts. 

All around, the other girls wobble to their feet, some too far away to be seen. Renée hears them pushing awkwardly through the brush in their teetering shoes, a feat which would have been all too easy a moment before, in more suitable forms. She stares into the trees, focusing on the distance from her sisters. 

A hand lands on her shoulder and Renée whirls, hands flying up only to be caught. The sight of her would-be attacker immediately sets her at ease, and she leans in. “Bernadette.” 

Bernadette smiles at her, all teeth. Her second in command. No more. Renée can’t think of anything to say. Luckily, Bernadette always does. “We should help the others.” 

“Of course.”

Bernadette nods but then focuses on something over Renée’s shoulder. “Sylvie? Are you alright?” 

Renée turns to see that Sylvie had yet to stand, still crouched and curled in on herself. She walks over to her, steady on her legs once again. “Young one? Can you stand?” 

Sylvie looks up, the panic in her eyes only growing. She opens her mouth and screams, the sound piercing and high. Renée freezes, with nothing to do but wait for Sylvie to run out of breath. She does, but then her hands fly to the hem of Renée’s dress, pulling at rich embroidery and getting dirt on the pristine white fabric, and screams again. 

In the woods, another answers, then another. 

***

They had been found quickly. A concerned party of castle guards had located them, torches in hand, smiles in place. Renée buried her instinct to flinch away from the flames and stepped forward to meet them, her own smile painted on. They are led back to the castle, newly repaired and humming with energy. 

Renée hesitates before taking the first step inside, feeling the others at her back, waiting with her. She pushes forward for them, her head held high as people pour into the entryway to greet them, all chattering excitedly and ushering each of her sisters away in turn, wrapping them in other colors and taking them out of Renée’s sight. She grits her teeth, and goes to pay her respects to the Prince. 

Dinner is strange, even after everything. Renée wants the meat and nothing else, though she tries not to let it show. Some of the others seem confused, twirling cutlery around in their hands and peering at wine glasses like they’d never seen them before. Renée watches over her girls as a matter of course, unable to stop herself even as she settles back into her proper form, her proper life. Really she barely knows some of these women.

Someone Renée doesn’t know asks her if she had known the Prince well before the spell, interrupting her musings. Renée presses her lips together, fighting down her irritation. Then she lets it out anyway. “Somewhat, though I got to know him better after, when I bit a strip from his flank.” 

No one moves or makes a sound in their immediate surroundings. They stare off into the middle distance, trying to pretend that they didn’t hear. Renée resists the urge to roll her eyes but picks up her wineglass to leave the room. They let her go. 

She can’t sleep. Days and days pass and she can’t sleep. She sits with her legs dangling down out of the window and sees Bernadette leaning out of her own. By day she sets about rebuilding her life, writing letters, attending court. But at night she can’t maintain the control, so she sits dangerously and watches over the forest. 

One night, she catches sight of Sylvie sneaking out with two others, all young, all beautiful. They had not settled back in yet in the way that many of the others had. The way Renée had. Still, it prompts her to wander the halls, going quietly by habit. 

The passageways are complex, a worthy distraction from the sleep she’s not getting. Hours pass and then there is a sound somewhere behind her. A thrill runs up her spine. Renée blows out her candle and is just turning a corner when hands grab her from behind. 

Even after she realizes that it’s Bernadette, Renée still struggles, bucking to try to throw her off, pulling her back when she succeeds. They’re in some forgotten room of a minor wing, the dark stone nearly humming with emptiness but now filled with their sounds. Renée doesn’t try to identify them apart from the meaning they carry. Play. Practice. Place. 

They wrestle each other down and onto the stone floor, close, then closer when Bernadette surges up to kiss her. Renée freezes, then melts. A lifetime of rules runs through her mind, an entire life, but hers surely, not anymore. That world is surely gone, melted away with the ice that covered it up. 

The Prince is marrying a commoner, the eternal snow is gone, and Renée is rolling her hips down to meet Bernadette's, pressing closer, almost as close as she wants to be. 

***

Renée focuses her energy on getting back into court life. She’s charming, setting her sights on others now that the Prince is taken. Bernadette is doing the same, though her light is dimmed. The challenge had gone out of it for her. 

Madeline, Renée’s sister, had come to find her. At first she had thrown herself into her arms, a familiar stranger. Now they barely speak. It suits Renée just fine. She finds that she doesn't like to speak more than necessary at all anymore since no one seems to have anything of importance to say. 

The others, the ones that had been inside when the magic hit, don’t seem to talk about what they experienced. The ones that Renée had danced with that night but had stayed behind to be turned into feather dusters seem especially closed, empty. But what else is there to talk about? 

The main topic of conversation in the castle is, as always, the Prince. Tangentially, that now includes Belle, who seems vaguely alarmed at all times by her new status. Renée watches her along with the others when she’s around, attempting to seem politely interested in the girl. She’s nice, the perfect balance for the Prince. 

They have a great feast and dance, though Renée can’t imagine where the money comes from. It’s nothing like the parties he used to throw, of course. The entire castle has a new life. The dancing is entirely different, moving to a rhythm that Renée can mimic but not feel. Her dress swirls around at the right times, the candlelight making her nearly luminous. But she feels nothing. 

Out of habit, Renée surveys the room, and see that Sylvie appears to have Belle trapped in a corner. Judging from the future Queen’s face, her words are not kind. Renée nearly trips over her hem in her haste to chase Sylvie away, achieving it with a single look and a hard press to her elbow. Belle watches her go, eyebrows raised, then turns back to regard Renée in the same open manner. 

“My apologies on Sylvie’s behalf,” Renée says, smoothly. “She is young.” 

Belle smiles. “It’s alright.” No guile, none at all. She won't be negotiating any deals any time soon. But she has a reputation for intelligence which Renée can respect. 

True to form, Belle’s gaze turns sharp, assessing. “You know you don’t have to wear white all the time, not anymore.”

Renée blinks, taken off guard. “I know. But it seemed appropriate,” she answers easily, realizing for the first time that she hadn’t touched anything else since she had been back. 

“Really?” Belle hums and catches sight of something over Renée’s shoulder. The Prince, if the softening of her eyes is any indication. “Excuse me.” 

“Of course,” Renée responds, already heading for the door. 

She tracks Sylvie outside to the garden with tear tracks down her cheeks and Bernadette holding her hand. Renée folds her arms against her chest, refusing to be moved and determined to berate her. “You would do well to have some respect, if not for our future queen then for the lady herself. She’s the one that freed us.” 

Sylvie jumps up, newly furious. Her eyes are red and burning, her tiny hands curled. “That’s why I hate her!” she shrieks, then she runs away, off and into the trees. 

Renée stares after her for a long moment, shocked, then turns to Bernadette, expecting that ironclad support she had so relied on. But Bernadette is too busy staring up at the sky, at the moon rising. Renée presses her lips together, and heads off into the darkness. 

***

The trees look different without the snow and ice, but Renée still intuitively knows where to go to find Sylvie. She heads deeper and deeper into the dark, unthinking of dangers in the woods. She had faced them all many times before. 

When she runs into a man, it also doesn’t occur to her that she’s a woman alone. Then he grabs her, his fingers digging into her flesh and pinching the bone below. Renée rears back, offended and speechless. 

It’s a shock to find that he doesn’t think of her as dangerous. 

Under the stars, she had almost forgotten. When she tries to pull away the man shakes her like a doll, making her fold and her neck snap back. Fury crackles under her skin, building up to something dark and hot. There’s a flash of movement in the corner of her eye that she pretends not to see. The man says something that she doesn’t hear over the rushing in her ears. Renée cries out and goes limp anyway, falling to her knees. Tricking him like they used to do with deer sometimes, then reminds him of who she is by sinking her teeth into his flesh when he bends down to taunt her. 

Blood fills her mouth, better than the wine at the dance not for the taste but for the way she’d earned it. 

Sylvie jumps on his back from behind, and together they take him down. 

They return to the castle together, roughed up and bloody. The guard goes white when he sees them, then flies into a flurry of motion when Renée explains the situation. They had left the man out in the woods, and he needed to be found. The guard runs, leaving them both in the entryway, filthy and ridiculous. 

Renée rests her hand on the base of her own neck, sore from the exertion, and catches Sylvie’s eyes. “Yes? You have something to say for yourself I imagine?”

Sylvie blinks up at her, wide young eyes flashing with emotion. She steps forward, into Renée’s space and touches her elbow. “Will you meet me in the garden at midnight?” 

Renée frowns. “Whatever for?” 

But Sylvie has already turned away, her hair bouncing behind her as she runs up the stairs. Renée stares after her for a long moment, feeling ridiculous, before deciding to go find Bernadette instead. 

She does not succeed, and it only makes her more frustrated, more angry. The castle is overbearing and still, sucking the life from her as she wanders the halls, trailing fingers over dead stone. There’s no thought of rest. She only returns to her room to retrieve her cloak, resolved to meet Sylvie without consulting Bernadette first. 

Renée moves quietly down back down the stairs, throwing on her cream colored cloak against the cold that is only just starting to return. The fur lining just brushes her face, making her wish she had thought to take off her dress first. The path around from the main door to the side garden Sylvie favors is dark, and takes times for her eyes to adjust. When Renée turns the corner, she senses more than sees them, all waiting, all dressed in white. 

They all look up, eyes trained on Renée. It’s eerily familiar to the first night, the dance. The assessing gazes have returned, but the faces are so different. Serious, familial. Calm. Renée keeps her shoulders straight and walks forward. 

Sylvie and Bernadette stand almost side by side at the far end of the arch, a space left between them. Renée doesn’t hesitate to step into it. She turns and regards the rest of the group. “Where are we going?” 

Bernadette smiles at her, reaching out to curl her hand around Renée’s, fingernails tapping at her skin. “To find the witch.” 

Sylvie leans in too, pressing her forehead against Renée’s shoulder. “To get it back.”

Heat blooms in Renée’s chest. _Yes,_ she thinks, her heart already picking up the rhythm of their eager feet shifting on the stone. Bernadette shifts her stance, ready to jump. The air is thick with it, the magic, the possibility. Renée spins around and tosses her head, unbound hair flickering behind her. 

“Run.” 

She doesn’t need to look back to see if they follow.


End file.
